


Stolen

by Petitbleu



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-11-27 02:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18188495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petitbleu/pseuds/Petitbleu
Summary: “You are the only person I'd like to say goodbye to when I die, because only then will this thing I call my life make any sense. And if I should hear that you died, my life as I know it, the me who is speaking with you now, will cease to exist.” - André Aciman





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. So. This is dark. It is based on a prompt that cumpeachx received on Tumblr literally months ago, and she let me take it because she didn't want to write it. I don't want to spoil anything, so please HEED THE ARCHIVE WARNINGS. If non-con squicks you out or is triggering in any way, please don't read this fic. All I can promise is a happy(-ish) ending. 
> 
> All my love and thanks to Brooke (dreamofhorses) for the endless encouragement and for convincing me to publish this. Also G (cumpeachx) and L (lookingforatardis), thank you for reading and offering feedback. This would have never seen the light of day without you three. 
> 
> I would love your comments, and I will be doing my best to respond promptly! I will probably update every other day or so.

They had booked their flight a day earlier than everyone else on purpose. An excuse to spend some time alone together, quality time, before the promo trail exploded in London. TIFF had been special, of course, thrilling and nostalgic, their first interviews together since 2018, but it had been a whirlwind, far too chaotic for any private conversations besides a ten-minute chat late one night where they had used their own air miles to book an earlier flight for their upcoming trip to BFI. 

Armie needed it, Timmy knew. Fresh off a divorce that had dominated tabloids and social media, he was fragile, had cried to Timmy over the phone countless nights, while Timmy helplessly sat in his hotel on location, not knowing what to say. So he had suggested the earlier flight, sprung it on his publicist after the fact, asking for an extra day to acclimate to the time change. He didn’t really need it, he’s more than accustomed to bouncing around time zones like a pinball machine, but whatever he could do to spend more time with Armie, he’d do it. 

Which is why they were making their rounds around the Bowery Terrace, giving hugs and handshakes to all the producers, cast, crew, guests, and reporters who were still enjoying the open bar provided by A24 for their New York premiere party. The movie was a smash, the reception at TIFF had been astoundingly positive, and reporters had been clutching at Timmy’s hands all night, effusive and generous with their praise. He was grateful, relieved that they had managed to pull off the second round with the same amount of love and emotion as the first. 

He extricates himself from an IndieWire critic assuring him you’re a shoo-in for the Oscar, you know that, right with a smile, and taps Armie on the elbow, who is bashfully listening to Luca.

“Tesoro, these people have seen your genius, they know you gave yourself to the performance. It’s all on the screen,” Luca praises, one hand clutching a small glass of something amber and the other at the junction of Armie’s neck and shoulder. “Ah, my Elio, come to say good night! I wish you were not leaving us so soon, we all want to bask in your beauty a little longer.”

Timmy laughs, goes in for a hug. “I’ll see you in two days, surely you can manage until then. Armie, our car is gonna be here soon, we should get our luggage from coat check. Buona notte, maestro.”

Luca releases Timmy with a kiss to his hair, grown out to reach his shoulders once more. “My little geniuses, ti amo.”

Armie claps Luca on the shoulder and utters his own goodbye, too quiet for Timmy to hear in the dull roar of the party. They slip out, managing to stay undetected, and tip the coat check guy for their suitcases before going out a service door to wait for their car. 

“Ready for this, brother?” Timmy asks, accepting a proffered cigarette and leaning close for Armie to light it. He inhales deeply, the nicotine sending a tiny burst of energy toward his brain. 

Armie does the same, and exhales upwards, watching the plume of smoke curl into the dark sky. “Gotta be, I guess.”

Timmy snorts. “Way to make a guy feel special, Hammer. Gotta be, he says.” 

“Shit, that didn’t come out right. You know there’s no one else I’d rather be doing promo with, man,” Armie says. Timmy’s looking down the street for their ride, but he can hear the smile in Armie’s voice.

“I know, I know. But… the divorce is off limits, right? I mean, they’re not going to ask you about that, right?”

Armie shrugs. “Maybe not explicitly, but come on, the similarities are there. Doesn’t take a scholar to make a connection.”

Timmy drops his spent cigarette and crushes it with his black boots. “I suppose. I’ll try to keep ‘em on track for you.”

“Ha! You, keeping on track? What interviews have you been watching, buddy?” Armie laughs, shoving at Timmy lightly, finishing his smoke. 

A pair of headlights turns onto 3rd Street, illuminating the road ahead. “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent interviewee. Have them eating out of the palm of my hand, every single one. Think this is us.” Timmy pushes off the side of the building as the car, a black SUV with dark windows, pulls to the curb in front of them. A slim man, wearing a baseball hat and stubble, hops out of the driver’s side and hurries to the sidewalk.

“Mr. Chalamet, Mr. Hammer, I’ll be taking you to JFK. Do you know your terminal? No, no, let me get your bags. Trunk door is tricky,” the driver says, grabbing the handles of Timmy’s suitcase. 

“Thanks man, we’re terminal four, Delta,” Timmy says, opening the door and sliding across the backseat to the far side. Armie climbs in after him, groans at finally sitting down after hours of milling around and small talk. 

“I don’t think anyone’s going to go easy on me. It’s all gonna be you obviously know how Oliver’s feeling and did this movie open your eyes to how your own marriage failed you, that kind of shit. And what can I say so I don’t sound like a total asshole? I didn’t cheat on her, it just didn’t work. I’m just a selfish douchebag who didn’t want to have kids with someone who was desperate for them. God, it’s kind of hot in here, don’t you think?” Armie tries to roll down the window but nothing happens.

“That might be the alcohol making you warm, feels okay to me. And you’re not a selfish douchebag, okay, you just want something different. There’s nothing wrong with that,” Timmy says. The driver finishes with their bags and gets back in the driver’s seat. He makes eye contact with them through the rear-view window. 

“Everything okay back there?” He asks as he pulls away from the curb.

“Yeah, man, but I can’t get the window open. It’s a little warm,” Armie responds, testing the window button again.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry about that, damn window buttons broke last week and the mechanic is waiting on a part to be shipped. I’ll turn the A/C on higher,” the driver replies apologetically. 

Armie smiles, the cool air ruffling his coiffed hair. “Thanks. What’s with the partition? This thing used to be a cop car or something? Little too fancy for that.”

The driver laughs, softly. “Nah, just use it for Uber on the weekends and stuff and it helps keep the drunk and disorderlies from being too distracting. I’ll roll it up, give you some privacy. Sure you got a lot to talk about.”

They wait until the barrier between them and the driver is closed, then get back into their conversation. “Thanks, Timmy, for trying to make me feel better. Wish the tabloids agreed with you. Sure would make this whole fucking process easier,” Armie murmurs. He’s staring at his hands, at the tattoo that is all the more visible without a silver band obstructing it. Timmy reaches over, pats it softly, until Armie stops it with his right hand coming to rest of top of Timmy’s hand, his left hand turning to lace their fingers together.

Timmy lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Whatever line they were toeing, it had been getting thinner ever since TIFF, ever since they had hugged upon seeing each other in the hotel lobby and had held on for a moment too long. He wasn’t sure of the depth of Armie’s feelings for him, though, so he wasn’t going to push. Armie was probably just lonely, touch starved since he had been living alone in a rented apartment in West Hollywood, not used to waking up alone. And Timmy wanted to be there for him, present, comforting, so he wasn’t about to blow up their friendship with a declaration of his undying love, or anything stupid like that.

But this was nice. Holding hands, in the backseat of a car, heading to the airport where they’d get to sit next to each other for six hours in their first class pods and then sleep in adjacent rooms at a hotel. God, he had missed this. Missed having a reason to be plastered to Armie’s side for days at a time, not having to worry about when the next time they’d get to see other would be. He squeezes Armie’s hand gently, experimenting with how far Armie would allow the line to be pushed this time, while looking out the window, avoiding any knowing glances from Armie. 

Traffic was light, and Timmy let the city lights flash past as he day dreamed about the coming days. He hoped that Armie would be too jet lagged to object to Timmy climbing into bed with him, like he used to do in Crema, on the promo trail the first time. It had never been salacious, often Armie’s wife - ex-wife - had been there too, but it was much nicer than trying to sleep in a strange place alone. He hoped maybe Armie would let him hold him, his pale arms encircling Armie’s toned torso, his cold toes stuck between Armie’s warm calves. 

He stares out the window as the Empire State Building appears down 34th Street, then the Chrysler Building at 44th, wait. They should have turned east already. They’re going too far north, there’s the Queensboro Bridge, why aren’t they turning..

“Armie, we’re going the wrong way,” Timmy whispers, trying to get his attention. “We’re going north, we should have turned right like 20 blocks ago, we told him JFK, right?”

Armie looks up, scans the street signs as they pass by. 76th, 77th, 78th. “Fuck, yeah, we told him.” He raps on the partition, but the driver doesn’t move to roll down the window. He smacks at it, harder. “Hey, we’re supposed to be going to JFK, can you hear me? We’re going the wrong way!” 

The driver makes no indication that he’s heard Armie, waits a few seconds before turning on the radio. The opening chords of Love My Way blare through the backseat, and Timmy turns to Armie, eyes wide. “Dude, what the fuck is going on?” He hates the way his voice shakes, but he’s freaked out. Why won’t the driver look at them?

Armie swears, smacks the window harder. “Listen, dude, what the fuck?” he yells. “Turn around, we need to get to the airport!” 

Still no answer. Timmy digs his phone out of his pocket, but there’s no signal. “Armie, check your phone, I don’t have a signal, I should have a signal,” Timmy babbles, grabs at Armie’s shoulders. His heart is racing, panic bubbling. Armie pulls his phone out of his jacket, then looks at Timmy, face pale. 

“I- I don’t have a signal either. I don’t, I feel fuckin’ weird. My head feels weird,” Armie says breathlessly.

Timmy scrabbles at the door. “Oh my god, Armie, there’s no door handle.” He lunges over Armie, who’s laying back with his hand on his forehead. There’s no door handle on Armie’s side, either. He bangs on the partition, but his head is feeling light, like he’s at the dentist and getting a root canal. “What’s going on?” he yells, but his voice feels weak. 

He feels Armie pull him into his side. “Timmy, I don’t know what’s going on, but… but we gotta get out, can you make an emergency call on your phone?” 

He hands Timmy his phone, dropped into Armie’s lap when he had gone for the door. Timmy tries to make the call, but there’s no ringing. Nothing. Armie starts pounding on the door window, then flips around and starts trying to kick out the glass, but there isn’t even a crack. 

There’s nowhere to go. Behind their seats is a carpeted wall, separating them from the trunk. The windows are too dark for anyone to see in, especially since it’s almost 11 pm and pitch black inside the car. Timmy frantically tries to send texts to his mom, to Luca, to Will, who is probably still at the party, but nothing is going through, and he’s so tired. His limbs feel like he’s underwater, or maybe flying. 

“Armie, Armie, I’m gonna fall asleep…” he murmurs. Lets his phone fall from his hand, reaches for Armie, who tucks him into his side protectively. 

“Hey, buddy, come on, we gotta stay awake, we gotta get out of here, wake up Timmy, WAKE UP!” Armie yells, as loud as he can, but Timmy can hear him fading. 

He closes his eyes one last time, Armie’s tear-streaked face the last thing he sees.

***

Armie blinks awake, his eyes sensitive to the harsh lights shining from above. His head is pounding and his back is stiff against… concrete? Where the fuck is he? Where the fuck is Timmy? He jerks his head up, gasps at the pain blooming across his temple. 

As his eyes adjust, he can make out the cinder block walls, the bright fluorescent lights, and a couple meager bits of furniture. A mattress shoved against the far wall, no sheets or pillows, a toilet in the opposite corner. There are cameras in every corner of the room, and if he squints, he can see hooks drilled into the walls every few feet. He forces himself to sit up, his entire body screaming with pain, and he jingles. 

Chains. He is in chains. He looks down, and he’s naked. Cuffs around his ankles and wrists, thick chains attached. He follows the chains to the hooks they’re attached to. His mouth is dry, too dry, when he calls out “Timmy?” He sweeps the room again, and there, on the other side of the mattress, Timmy. Looking like a rag doll thrown to the ground by a child who decided they’re done playing. He’s naked, too, same cuffs and chains hooked to the wall, and he’s not moving. 

Armie pushes himself to his hands and knees, not trusting himself to stand. He crawls over the mattress, but the chains are too short for him to reach Timmy. He whimpers, lays down, stretches out on his stomach to reach out as far as he can. He strokes Timmy’s hair with one finger, the only part of him he can reach, twirls a curl around his finger, and tugs.

“Timmy, you gotta wake up, please, please wake up,” Armie pleads, tears spilling down his face. He doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, but he’s watched enough SVU reruns to know that this is bad. Really bad. He tugs again, harder. “Timmy, wake up, wake up…” He drifts back to sleep.

He wakes up again to an armful of Timmy, who is sobbing and shaking, wrapped around Armie’s body so tightly he’s having a hard time breathing. “Hey, hey, I’m awake, I’m here, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Timmy looks up at Armie, his face red and wet with tears and snot. “Oh, God, what’s going on? Where are we? I- I’m not hurt, I mean, my head hurts like a bitch- what happened?” He’s talking too fast, Armie notices, he’s going to hyperventilate. 

“Shh, you gotta breathe, gotta calm down. I don’t know, I must’ve passed out right after you, I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out, oh God,” Armie cries, squeezing Timmy tightly to his side. “That… that guy must’ve planned this, he wasn’t responding to us-”

“You may call ‘that guy’ Sir, Armie,” a disembodied voice buzzes from a speaker above the mirror next to the door. Armie didn’t notice this from before. “Or Master, I’m not picky between the two.”

Armie shoots up to a sitting position, pushing Timmy behind him as much as possible. “Who the fuck are you? Where are we?” he asks, voice hard as steel.

“Is that how I asked you to address me, Armie?”

Armie narrows his eyes at the mirror, sure that the driver is watching from behind it. “I don’t give a fuck what you want to be called. Tell us where we are and let us go, now.”

The door buzzes, and the driver strolls in, wearing the same clothes and hat as before and carrying a metal stick. The door clicks behind him. Armie notices that there is no handle. 

“I said you can call me Sir or Master. You are in my home, as my guests. What do you say about my hospitality, Armie?” 

“Fuck your hos-” Armie screams as the driver shoves the metal stick into his neck, an electric shock zapping through his body. He falls to the mattress, and Timmy scrambles to cover Armie, starting to cry again. 

“Let’s try this again, shall we, Timmy? What do you say?” The driver swings his metal stick casually. Timmy looks from Armie to the driver, petting Armie’s hair.

“Th- thank you, Sir,” he whispers, eyes downcast, shivering. 

Sir smiles. “Very good, Timmy. Such a quick learner. I always knew you were the submissive one, we’re going to have a very nice time together. Hopefully Armie learns quickly, too, I want him to join in on our fun.”

Armie seems to have recovered from the shock of the cattle prod. He pushes himself to his knees, and wraps his arms around Timmy so he’s mostly hidden from Sir. “If you fucking touch him, I’ll kill you.”

Sir smiles again, but this smile is uglier, more sinister. “Oh, no, I won’t be doing the touching. You will.”

Timmy whimpers into Armie’s shoulder, clutches onto his arms. 

“Excuse me?” Armie asks, voice shaking.

“Excuse me, what?” Sir asks, holding out the cattle prod. 

Armie flinches. “Excuse me, Sir?”

“Good boy. It’s quite simple, really. I’d like to play with you. So you’ll do what I say to each other, or I’ll punish you,” Sir explains, as if he’s explaining the rules to Monopoly. “With this nice little stick here, or not. I have a whole box of toys I’m excited to try out on you.”

Armie bites his tongue, holding back what he’d really like to say. He had almost passed out from the pain of the cattle prod, and he’s not going to leave Timmy alone with this guy, ever. He needs to stay conscious. 

Sir seems to be waiting for an outburst, but he smiles again once he realizes Armie’s behaving. “Let’s test it out, shall we?” He backs out of the room when the door buzzes, and Armie hears the lock click again. 

The disembodied voice crackle over the speaker. “We’ll start easy today, okay? How about a little kiss? If I like what I see, you’ll get some breakfast.”

Armie and Timmy stare at each other, horrified and scared. Armie brushes his thumb over Timmy’s cheekbone gently. “I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want to do, buddy,” he murmurs. 

Timmy squeezes his eyes shut tightly. “You know I don’t mind kissing you, but I don’t wanna do anything for him,” he whispers. “But I don’t want you to get hurt again. Just do it.”

Armie tilts Timmy’s chin up, leans his mouth close to Timmy’s ear, on the side away from the mirror. “I’m sorry, Tim.” He moves his mouth to Timmy’s, brushes their lips together gently, until Timmy surges forward and smacks their lips together tightly. Armie threads his fingers through Timmy’s hair, scratching his scalp gently, as he tilts his head to slot their mouths together more, then slowly releases. He looks at mirror with a questioning look, hoping that was enough for Sir. No such luck.

“You think that’s acceptable? I hope not, I’d hate to have to to zap you again.”

Armie sighs, turns back to Timmy, who’s trying to keep his tears from falling. Armie reaches for his hair again, anything to ground him in this moment, to keep him from spiralling. He kisses him again, strong this time, swiping his tongue across Timmy’s lower lip. Timmy gasps in surprise, and Armie plunges his tongue into his mouth, running it along his teeth, coaxing Timmy’s tongue to play along. 

Timmy whimpers, presses closer to Armie, arms hanging from his neck, as Armie finally releases him so they can catch their breath. 

“Much better, oh, yes, we’re going to have so much fun. I can’t wait for you to fuck him,” Sir exclaims gleefully. “I’ll be back with your breakfast.”

Timmy breaks down crying as soon as they hear footsteps stomping. It sounds like he’s going up stairs, then walking across the ceiling above them. “Armie, I can’t, I can’t do this for him, what are we going to do?”

Armie lays them down on the mattress and pulls Timmy into his arms. “I don’t know what else we can do, Tim.”


	2. Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie tries to follow directions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please continue to heed the tags. Apologies for not updating over the weekend, I decided to spend my one day off under the influence.
> 
> Thank you to Brooke and the gc!!

_Click._

Sir had unlocked the door, set down two styrofoam bowls of oatmeal, two bananas, and a plastic bottle of water, and had shuffled out without so much as a glance at them. Timmy stares at the food, his stomach grumbling with the reminder that he hasn’t eaten anything since lunch the previous day, half a turkey sandwich and a handful of chips all he could manage before his nerves threatened to force everything up again. Thanks to his fucking nerves, he hadn’t even eaten anything at the after party, too anxious to take the time to scarf down the tiny little grilled cheeses propped inside shot glasses of tomato soup that were circling around the room on trays. Armie had eaten eight of them. 

His stomach growls again. He presses both hands around his belly button, hoping that will stave off the hunger. There’s no way in hell he’s eating anything Sir prepares for them. They’ve already been drugged, he’s determined, laughing gas or something similar, or maybe their drinks were drugged at the after party. There’s no other explanation for why they both passed out around the same time in the car. And if he’s already drugged them once, he would have no objections to doing it again. 

He squeezes his arm around Armie. They’ve been laying down, curled up, ever since Sir left to get them breakfast, and Armie hasn’t said much. Granted, Timmy hasn’t either. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what time it is, or what day it is, but they’re probably supposed to be in London right now. He had hoped they would share a bed, but this bare mattress on a concrete floor is not what he had in mind. He squeezes his eye shut tightly to stop the tears that are burning in the corners of his eyes.

The kiss Sir forced on them was the first time they had kissed as Armie and Timmy. He’d dreamed of what it would feel like to kiss Armie, not Oliver, for the first time, and now that will be forever tainted with abject fear. And if Sir forces them to have sex, that will be ruined, too. 

He is jerked out of his spiralling thoughts by the grating static of Sir’s voice.

“Go ahead, eat your breakfast. I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes, and then we can have some real fun.”

Timmy squeezed his eyes shut, not acknowledging Sir’s voice. He was definitely not eating any fucking breakfast. He felt Armie sit up and pull the food closer to the mattress.

“Armie, stop. We can’t eat his food,” Timmy whispers, rolling onto his side and pulling Armie’s arm. Armie looks down at his lap with a sigh.

“We have to keep our strength up. I don’t… I don’t know how we’re going to get out, but if we don’t eat, we’ll be too weak to escape,” Armie says, softly as to not alert Sir. Who knows if he’s listening at all times. 

Timmy sits up, curls his body around Armie’s, his legs around Armie’s waist, his soft cock resting gently on Armie’s stomach. He buries his head in Armie’s neck. “I’m scared he’s going to drug us again.”

Armie squeezes the back of Timmy’s neck and pulls his head away from his shoulder to press their foreheads together. “I think we’d be naive to think we’re not getting drugged again, Tim. But I swear to God, I’m gonna get you out of here alive, okay, so I need you to eat. That cattle prod fucking hurt and I don’t want you to be punished. I need you to do what he says, because if he hurts you or, god, Tim-” he chokes on a sob, “if he kills you, I’ll kill him. And then I’ll probably follow you because I won’t be able to live with myself if I let him hurt you. Do you understand me?”

Timmy’s face contorts in agony, like the mask of tragedy, tears slipping down his face into the lines of his grimace. “Yes. But please, don’t make me eat. Please, Armie, I don’t want to pass out again.”

Armie looks away, jaw clenched. “I’ll eat first, I’ll tell you if I start to feel weird. But if I’m okay, you have to eat. You can stay in my lap, I won’t let go.”

Timmy buries his head in Armie’s neck, tears leaking down his face onto Armie’s shoulder. When it’s clear no response is forthcoming, he drags the food closer to them and shovels down the bowl of oatmeal as fast as he can, followed by the banana and a sip of water. He’ll leave the rest for Timmy. 

He tightens his grip around Timmy, both arms wrapped around his back, and waits. For the light-headedness and sudden fatigue of the other night. For a fluttering of his pulse, or the start of a cold sweat. If he’s about to pass out, he needs to stay alert long enough to promise Timmy that he’ll be okay and to only worry about keeping himself safe. 

But nothing happens. He feels fine. Satiated, for a moment. He brings a hand up to Timmy’s hair and threads his fingers through, about to say the food is safe to eat, when Timmy squirms in his lap, obviously trying to get more comfortable. And Armie’s hard. 

“Oh, fuck, Timmy, I’m sorry,” Armie babbles as he tries to push Timmy off his lap onto the mattress. “Shit, I didn’t realize it was happening.”

Timmy clings on, his hands clasped on Armie’s shoulders tightly. “It’s okay, Armie,” he mumbles. He can’t quite look at Armie’s face, so he gently headbutts Armie in the chest. “I don’t mind.”

Armie stares up at the ceiling, his hands grasping Timmy’s biceps in his aborted attempt to give them some space, willing his inopportune erection to go down. He’s not feeling remotely aroused, and even if he was, because of proximity or nudity or whatever, he would never act on it. But he stays hard, his cock nestled between Timmy’s cheeks. “I feel fine. It’s your turn,” he says, leaning forward to grab the remaining bowl of oatmeal that is surely cold and lumpy now.

Timmy whines, pushing his face harder into Armie’s chest. “Don’ wanna,” he says to Armie’s sternum. Armie nudges him forward. 

“Come on, Timmy, please eat. Don’t give him a reason to punish you, please,” Armie pleads in a whisper, lifting Timmy and giving him a shake. “I’ll feed you, will that help? Can I feed you?”

Timmy groans and rolls his eyes, the sheen of them betraying his true anguish, and pushes down on Armie to get his legs on one side and his back cradled at Armie’s side. He licks his lips, swallows audibly with a click, and licks his lips again. “Okay,” he whispers.

Armie freezes when he looks down at Timmy, struck by the roar of protectiveness beating against his ribs. Timmy looks pale, drawn; the dark circles under his eyes are silhouetted by his dark lashes and his nipples are pebbled in the cold air of the room. _He’s gotta get them out_ , he thinks, _and he’ll kill whoever the fuck Sir is to do it._

Armie takes a small spoonful of the oatmeal and brings it up to Timmy’s mouth, which opens a beat later with a hitched breath. “Shh, it’s okay,” Armie soothes, rubbing his hand up and down Timmy’s flank. He brings up another spoonful and Timmy takes it dutifully, like a dose of medicine. “Thank you for eating. You’re being so good.”

Timmy looks up Armie sharply, his glittering eyes searching Armie’s. Armie brings the spoon up again and Timmy takes the mouthful without looking away from Armie’s eyes. Armie can’t look away either. He crooks the corner of his mouth in a ghost of a smile, brings the spoon up with more oatmeal. “There you go, just like that, just a couple more bites.” Timmy closes his mouth around the spoon and tries to give Armie his own smile. Armie pulls the spoon out of Timmy’s mouth gently, then runs the back of his index finger along Timmy’s cheekbone. “Are you doing okay?”

Timmy closes his eyes and nods, opens his mouth for more. Armie gives him two more spoonfuls, then picks up the banana and opens it with his teeth. “Here, Timmy, eat the banana, yeah, so good,” he croons, his hand continuing its path along Timmy’s side. Timmy grabs the rest of the banana from Armie, finishes it off in three huge bites, and settles back into Armie’s body and watches Armie’s face as he slowly chews. 

Armie can’t help but crack a smile at Timmy’s stuffed cheeks. He looks like a chipmunk. Armie strokes the side of Timmy’s face with his now free hand, tucks a bit of hair behind Timmy’s ear. He leans closer, his mouth exhaling hotly into his ear. “Whatever happens after this, Timmy, I’m going to do everything I can to keep you safe. No matter what he makes me do, I’m only doing it so he can’t punish you. You have to trust me, okay, I never want to hurt you, but he may make me do something that hurts you. Remember this, okay? Remember the way I’m holding you, I’ll never let you fall.”

*** 

Armie had rocked Timmy back to sleep after they finished breakfast, but he doesn’t think it’s been more than 30 minutes before Sir’s staticky voice rouses them both back to alertness. 

“Well _done_ , boys, I’m so impressed,” his voice crows, clearly gleeful. “Now, I’ve been looking forward to this moment for a… very long time. So you’re both going to make it good, and if you disobey and ruin this for me, we’ll see how well Timmy responds to a little bit of shock.”

Neither of them reply. They are both gripping each other tightly. Armie presses his cheek onto the top of Timmy’s head in an effort to convey that he’s here with him, no matter what. He has a passing thought skitter through his mind; he’s a little surprised at how quickly they have become physically inseparable. He thinks nothing of their nudity; the sight of their cocks, both puzzlingly fully erect, reminds Armie of Crema, of sharing two twin-sized beds and faded yellow sheets while an Italian crew argues about lighting or sound, of moving together, a dance, of forgetting their boundaries and feeling their sweat run together, gluing the two of them into one being. 

“Enough cuddling.” Sir’s voice pulls Armie back to the present, back to their nightmare. “Now, Armie, you’re going to fuck him.”

Timmy makes a small, wounded noise in his throat. Armie squeezes him tighter, then clears his throat. “We need lube. Sir.”

“You’re not getting any. Better make sure he’s open enough, I bet he has a tight little virgin ass, don’t you, Timmy? Your cock is going to tear him apart.”

Timmy whimpers, fingers scrabbling around Armie’s neck. Armie stares at the mirror, his expression murderous. “I’m not going to put anything inside him without lube.”

“If he doesn’t have a finger up his ass in 30 seconds, I’ll put something else up there. If I remember correctly, Armie, one touch and you almost passed out.”

The implication takes Armie’s breath away. He’s not even sure the cattle prod would work in that way, but he’s sure as hell not going to let it close enough to Timmy to find out. He palms the back of Timmy’s head, searches his eyes. “Remember what I said, Timmy,” he murmurs, coaxing Timmy to lay down on his back and rest his head on the mattress. “Eyes on me, okay?”

Timmy nods, the movement loosening the tears in his eyes and streaking his face. Armie puts his index finger in his mouth, swirling his tongue around and releasing it with a string of saliva connecting it to his mouth. Timmy’s legs are already splayed open, his cock pointing straight up to his belly button. Armie slips his finger in the cleft of Timmy’s ass, strokes the tight rim in a circle. He feels Timmy clench. He doesn’t stop his gentle touches as his gets on his knees, uses his other hand to push Timmy up so his body is resting on his shoulders. “Eyes on me. You need to relax, Timmy, you gotta let me in,” he instructs, his eyes never leaving Timmy’s even as he lowers his face closer to the swells of Timmy’s ass.

“Armie,” Timmy chokes out the moment Armie’s tongue laves right over where his finger is still circling. “Oh, god.”

Armie repeats the motion, over and over until his chin, his fingers, and the tight ring of muscle are all soaked with saliva, then he stiffens his tongue and presses inside. He forces his tongue in and out of Timmy until he can feel a little bit of give in the walls surrounding him, then he starts inching his finger in slowly next to his tongue. He can hear Timmy’s moans, low and choked off, like he’s trying to hold them back. Armie replaces his hand holding up Timmy’s body with his elbow so he can reach out blindly for Timmy, who clutches at Armie’s hand with both of his. Armie pulls out his tongue to suck softly at Timmy’s rim, trying to make Timmy as wet and loose as possible. He pulls out his finger until only the tip is hooked inside, and he pulls it to the side gently and then spits into the gap created. He shoves two fingers in this time, rubbing his saliva in deep and scissoring his fingers.

He presses in as deep as he can with his fingers and he must nudge Timmy’s prostate because Timmy jerks and cries out a hoarse _fuck_. Armie’s not sure if he should aim to hit that spot and make it feel good for Timmy, or if it will only confuse him. He leaves his fingers still in Timmy’s ass, and leans up and over to check on Timmy. He curses under his breath at the sight of Timmy silently sobbing, his entire face soaked in tears and eyes screwed up tight, his mouth an angry twist. 

“Why did you stop,” Sir asks, his voice rougher than before. “Get your fucking dick in his ass now, stop wasting my Viagra.”

Armie’s head snaps up at the speaker, then back down to his erection, which has not flagged once since he had eaten his breakfast. _Timmy was right_ , he thinks sadly, as he looks between both of their cocks. He leans over Timmy, right hand finding his spit-slick entrance again and his mouth pressed against Timmy’s ear.

“You’re being so brave, so good, Timmy,” Armie rumbles, watching Timmy’s cheeks color. “It’s going to hurt more now, and I’m so sorry about that, baby,” the endearment just slipping out of his mouth. Timmy inhales quickly, grabs the side of Armie’s face, and drags him to his mouth.

“Say it again,” Timmy pleads, his mouth hot on Armie’s. “Don’t let him hear you.”

Armie seals their mouths together, makes Timmy focus on the kiss while he lines his cock up with Timmy’s entrance. He pushes in, as slow as he can, and has to release Timmy’s mouth to breathe, wet and labored. He slowly bottoms out, eyes locked on Timmy’s, his hand coming up to frame Timmy’s face. “ _Baby_ ,” he whispers. “You’re my baby, right?” Timmy nods wordlessly, mouth agape and soft, as Armie starts to thrust into Timmy. “Only mine, no one else’s. Keep your eyes on me, baby, eyes on me.”

As he starts picking up speed, Timmy starts grunting. He reaches up to twist his fingers in Armie’s short hair. “Yeah,” Armie pants, “Touch me, baby, so good.”

“Oh, yes, harder, Armie, fuck him harder. Little slut loves it, he has such a greedy cunt, it was made for this, oh, yeah,” Sir moans. Armie can hear the squelch of a well-lubed hand flying over Sir’s cock, and bites out a _fuck you_ in his head as he gazes into Timmy’s eyes, wiping away tears with his thumb.

“You’re being too nice to him, he’s just a slut, he doesn’t need that,” Sir barks out. “Fuckin’ slap him, face, now.”

Armie shuts his eyes, but doesn’t let up his movement. He’s nowhere near close to coming, but he hopes once Sir comes he won’t notice if they stop. He opens his eyes again, mouths _I’m sorry, baby_ to Timmy, who bites his lip, and then Armie winds his hand back and slaps Timmy across his cheek. Timmy bursts into a fresh wave of tears.

Armie is quick to press his hand to the blooming red mottling Timmy’s cheek, hoping it will soothe the pain. 

“Again,” Sir yells, his breathing rough and fast.

Armie slaps Timmy once more and hears Sir shout out a mangled mess of words.

“Fuck, fuck, yeah, oh god yeah, so, hot, fuck,” is all they hear before the static of the speaker cuts out. 

Armie pulls out immediately, shushing Timmy’s cries, and presses his hand back on Timmy’s cheek. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, Timmy, shhh, it’s over, please, baby, please stop crying.”

Timmy continues to sob as if he never heard Armie, loud, plaintive sobs torturing Armie. Timmy has his legs tightly held together, but Armie needs to make sure he isn’t injured. “Hey,” he soothes, gently and soft, running his hands down Timmy’s torso. “Let me see, I just need to look, make sure you’re okay, baby.”

Timmy whimpers as he splays his legs once more, his cock still pointing up. Armie scoots down and slowly spreads Timmy’s cheeks. His hole is puffy and red, clearly sore, but there’s no blood. Armie wants to kiss it better, but knows it will only bring back the terror of Sir. 

Armie scoots up and tucks Timmy against his side, keeping one hand in his hair, heavy, comforting, and the other is resting on Timmy’s back, light, just a reminder that Armie is there. “I’m sorry, Timmy. I’m sorry he made me do that to you.”

Timmy shudders, grips Armie tighter in the aftermath. “I can’t do this, Armie. When are they gonna find us?”

Armie holds on to Timmy with all his strength, telling himself it’s to make sure Timmy feels safe. “I don’t know, but I’m sure they’re looking. Your parents won’t stop till they have you safe at home, Timmy, I’m sure they’re doing everything they can to find you.”


	3. Day Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to sound like a broken record but please heed the tags and also my general warning that it is not for the faint of heart.
> 
> Also hello the comments you all leave me and the kudos seriously make my day and I squeal over every single one and send them to my friends so THANK U
> 
> Thanks to my beloved @dreamofhorses and @cumpeachx for reading and validating me I love u both more

@BFI: Tonight’s screening of PARALLEL LIVES has been cancelled. Please contact the box office at boxoffice@londonfilmfestival.co.uk for ticket refunds.

@timobeechalamt: WHAT? WHY??

@timostan_xx: Does this mean no pics of Timmy or Armie? [crying emoji][peach emoji]

@johnluvsfilm: Bit annoying to cancel day of. I travelled from Manchester.

Awardswatch thread: CMBYN Sequel, aka Peach We Go Again, page 80

manuelan: [Link to BFI twitter] This is weird, right? Wonder what happened.

BillCyber: That’s… very strange. We know the movie is good, maybe everyone’s flights got delayed? They were just in New York for the premiere…

Natalegend: [link to tweet] Can’t be, this person saw Luca and Michael at Heathrow. 

manuelan: They wouldn’t cancel an entire premiere because one of them is sick, would they? I mean, I know it’s the Timmy and Armie show, they should just suck it up for the night. 

@ClaraWelchGuardian: So strange, my interview with Timothee Chalamet and Armie Hammer was just cancelled. Film’s publicist cited “unforeseen circumstances.” Talked to a few others who had chats scheduled, they’ve all been cancelled as well… 

@TheGNShow: Friday show update: Nicole Kidman and Jake Gyllenhaal replace guests Timothee Chalamet and Armie Hammer. 10:35 pm on BBC1.

@London_Lad: Didn’t think anything of it at the time, but saw #lucaguadagnino in my hotel lobby having a proper row about #armiehammer and #timotheechalamet. Apparently they never checked into their rooms???

Awardswatch thread: CMBYN Sequel, aka Peach We Go Again, page 87

BillCyber: [link to @London_Lad tweet] Um… this is crossing into bizarre territory.

 

pumans: Do you think something happened? Seems like Luca didn’t know they weren’t there. Wouldn’t they have flown together? Wouldn’t the interviews just get rescheduled if one of them was sick or they missed their flight? The whole situation seems to be being handled very dramatically. 

OnTheDL.com thread: Oliver still wants to hammer Elio

Post 343: [link to @London_Lad tweet] THEY FINALLY RAN AWAY TOGETHER. Probably banging as we speak. 

Post 344: [R343] Sure looks that way, doesn’t it… not surprised, tbh, it was only a matter of time now that Armie finally pulled his head out of his ass and got divorced.

Post 345: [R344] ...resisting the urge to make a head in his ass joke.

@Vulture: Where, oh where did @realchalamet and @armiehammer go? Neither actor has been seen since the New York City premiere after party two days ago, and the London Film Festival premiere of the long-awaited sequel has been cancelled.

***

Timmy doesn’t know what day it is, or if it is even day or night. It has to have been hours since Armie tucked him under his arm and drifted off mumbling that everything would be okay. Timmy couldn’t sleep. Had watched both of their erections wilt, watched the rise and fall of Armie’s belly beneath his hand. Watched the mirror. In terror. The lights haven’t turned off, there have been no more meals delivered. No directions. He has no idea when Sir will demand a repeat performance, or something worse. And he’s got to get a fucking grip on himself before it happens or he’s going to lose himself.

He’s been trying to process what happened, but he never gets very far before the panic starts trickling down his body like a cracked egg. Until Armie had called him baby, tethered him back to earth, he had been lost in his mind with fear and pain. Armie had been a faceless unknown mountain, his body blocking out the fluorescent lights and forcing itself into Timmy, and when Timmy had heard _baby_ , Armie’s features had snapped back into focus. It was like Timmy was standing at the far end of a narrow, dark tunnel, and each murmur of _baby_ had illuminated the next few feet in front of him, with Armie and his light, his warmth, waiting for him at the entrance of the tunnel.

He would be worried about encroaching personal boundaries, but frankly, he didn’t give a fuck. Armie had given it to him endlessly upon his request, so he’s hoping Armie doesn’t care, either. If this is what he needs to stay sane, he’ll take it. He runs his fingers up Armie’s stomach, drawing mindless designs, exhausted. He believes Armie when he says he won’t let Timmy fall, but what happens when Armie falls? 

It will be up to him. They need to take care of each other, when they can. He needs to be stronger, for Armie. He’s mad at himself for failing to feed himself; Armie shouldn’t have to fucking _feed_ him, he’s not a fucking _child_. He shifts in Armie’s hold in irritation, decides to extricate himself from their snuggling to pee. 

When he tries to stand, however, his knees buckle from the pain radiating from his ass, and he sits down heavily on the side of the mattress, aggravating the pain further.

“Jesus, _fuck_ ,” he rasps, eyes screwed shut.

Armie sits up the second Timmy speaks, his eyes wild and arms reaching for Timmy. “What’s wrong, bab- Timmy, Timmy, what hurts?” he asks, stumbling over Timmy’s name. 

Timmy bats away Armie’s hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine, Armie, go back to sleep. I just have to pee.”

“What hurts? You need to tell me, please,” Armie pleads, leaning forward to flutter his hands anxiously around Timmy.

Timmy sighs and turns to push Armie down on his back. “It’s just some residual soreness from earlier, but I’m okay, okay? Go back to sleep.”

Armie’s face drops, and he grabs Timmy’s hand still on his shoulder. 

“Armie, stop. Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. I don’t blame you, I’m not mad at you, I _promise_ ,” Timmy rushes out. “You kept me focused on you, I was so in my fucking head, you brought right back out. You made it better than it could have been.”

“I should have done more.” Armie’s tone is flat, defeated. He’s not looking at Timmy anymore, his gaze directed at a patch of concrete amid tension rippling through his face. “I shouldn’t have done anything without lube, or even oil, I could have really hurt you.”

“You don’t know what he would have done if you had refused to- to fuck me,” Timmy spits out. “But I guarantee it would have hurt worse than what I’m feeling right now.”

Armie’s face crumples. “God, Timmy, I’m so sorry. I r-raped you. No, don’t touch me, I hurt you!” 

Timmy pulls back his hands from Armie quickly. Armie curls up on his side, facing away from Timmy, sobbing into his hands. His body shakes with the force of his crying and Timmy aches to hold him. He lays down behind Armie, body curved around Armie’s like a parenthesis, no touching, his mouth inches from Armie’s ear.

“Listen to me,” Timmy says, under his breath and low. “You did not rape me. He did. He raped both of us, and I’m barely holding it together right now, and the only reason I haven’t lost my mind and starting screaming yet is because of you.” He dares to shuffle a little closer; he brushes the backs of Armie’s knees with his. “You protected me the best you could. You tried to make it as easy as possible for me. I’m sorry he made you do that, I’m so sorry you had to touch me like that.”

Armie shudders with another waves of tears. Timmy cautiously places his hand on Armie’s bicep, but when Armie reaches back and clutches his hand so tightly his fingers crack, he throws himself against Armie’s back and hugs him with all four limbs, his chin tucked at the junction between Armie’s neck and shoulder. 

“Thank you,” he whispers after a few long minutes, planting a light kiss on Armie’s neck. “Thank you for protecting me. I’ve got your back, too, Armie, I’ve got you.”

Armie sniffles wetly, releases Timmy’s hand to wipe his face. “Thank you,” he says. “Can I… can I keep calling you baby?”

Timmy smiles into Armie’s neck. “Yes, please. It gave me something to focus on, I could focus on you and not, you know. Anything else. And, uh, I like it.”

Armie suddenly turns over, his face now inches away from Timmy’s. His bloodshot eyes search Timmy’s, looking for an answer he isn’t sure if he’s found. He starts, stops a question, then steels himself, visibly. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, shy and small. “Can I kiss my baby?”

Timmy sucks in a breath, eyes wide as he stares at Armie. “You want to kiss me?” he asks, wonderingly. 

Armie crooks a smile, tucks a curl behind Timmy’s hair and lets his finger drag down his jaw. “Only if you want to, baby.”

“Yeah,” Timmy breathes out. He leans in, pressing a kiss to Armie’s lips, chaste, quick. He leans away to gauge Armie’s reaction, and he smiles bashfully at Armie’s blush and dilated pupils. “Was that good?”

Armie smiles wider, rubs a hand down Timmy’s side until it rests on the jut of his hip. “Yeah, it was good, baby.”

“Good, ‘cause I really gotta pee now,” Timmy says, rolling off the mattress gently and trying to stand again. He’s ready for the pain this time, though, and he stumbles over to the toilet.

Armie gets up to use it too when Timmy gets back to the mattress, and they stay standing and stretch. Timmy isn’t going to try explaining what he’s feeling right now. So what if they want to kiss each other? Or if Timmy wants Armie to call him baby? Or if being naked around each other at all times should feel uncomfortable, but doesn’t? 

It’s the proximity, he tells himself. And the base levels of fear, of the need to survive. He’s not going to ask Armie if this means Armie wants to be with him in the real world. Because who the fuck knows if they’re going to make it back out to the real world. It’s a small comfort, the kiss, the nickname, and he’ll take them if he can, he thinks, as they settle back down on the mattress, legs entangled and Timmy tucked under Armie’s chin, back to waiting for the unknown.

***

“Up! Get up!”

There’s a clang of a door slamming open, a kick to the mattress, and they’re scrambling to their feet, untangling their bodies from each other. Timmy rubs the sleep out of his eyes a second before the crack of a hand snaps his head to one side, the pain of a slap blooming red across his cheek.

Shock prevents him from crying out and he reaches for Armie, who is suddenly no longer beside him, his absence a cold ghost pressing against him. Timmy looks where Armie had just been standing, and he sees Sir, tightening Armie’s chains against the wall so Armie is spread eagle against the wall.

“ARMIE,” Timmy screams, rushing up to Sir and pulling at his arm, hitting him with closed fists, anything to get him away from Armie.

Sir throws him off with a grunt, and once he looks satisfied with Armie’s bound wrists and ankles, he turns to Timmy, a hard glint in his eyes and a curl of a smirk that makes Timmy’s heart drop. 

“Don’t touch me!” he yells, backing up as far away as the wall directly opposite Armie. He darts his eyes over to Armie, who is crying silently and pleading _something_ with his eyes, but Timmy doesn’t figure it out before his body is suddenly is on fire, unending pain that spares no part of him, that drops him where he stands, like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

The pain cuts out as abruptly as it began, and Sir appears in his flooded vision, a dark specter silhouetted by the harsh lights above.

“You fucking minx,” Sir spits, drops landing on Timmy’s face. “You think you have me all figured out, don’t you? Think you’re going to get me all hot until I forget about you, do you?”

“W-what?” Timmy breathes out, his body hitching with tremors.

“You convinced Armie to stop fucking you, didn’t you? I know it was you. I checked the tapes, you didn’t let him come, now you’ve ruined it, you fucking whore.”

Timmy cries out a _no_ right as the pain starts again, his inner thigh feeling like the flesh is peeling back from the bone. He can’t think, his mind is screaming at him, and he might be screaming out loud, the two twining together to consume him. 

He loses time, even when the hurt stops, floating in a nightmare of screaming until he feels a different kind of pain, sharp and eye watering, that brings him back with a gasp. Sir is still bending over him, his hand twisted in Timmy’s hair, pulling him up from the floor so their faces are only a few inches apart. His eyes are crazed, pupils blown, as he twists his hand further into Timmy’s curls and yanks, hard.

Timmy chokes on a breath, but he thinks he’s all screamed out.

“This is what is going to happen, Timmy. Armie is going to fuck you again, but this time, you both finish. He won’t stop until you both come. Don’t worry,” he says, with a light slap to Timmy’s face, almost jovially. “I have some things for you that will help.”

Timmy suppresses a sob, which turns into a full body shudder. Sir laughs at him as he drags him to his feet and shoves him back against the wall. His mouth is wrenched open, and Sir pulls a water bottle out of nowhere, pouring it all down Timmy’s throat. Timmy sputters and gags until Sir forces his mouth closed.

“Keep it down,” Sir hisses, tilting Timmy’s head up to make sure he’s swallowed all the water, which had a bitter taste and was probably full of Viagra. He pushes off Timmy, who slides down the wall once he’s not being held up. Sir pulls another water bottle out of his pocket and crosses the room to Armie, who still has tears coursing down his cheeks. 

“No, no, no, no,” Armie moans, thrashing his head from side to side in an attempt to avoid drinking the water. “Please, Sir, no.”

“Shut up,” Sir snaps as he empties the water into Armie’s mouth. He watches Armie swallow, then slaps him hard across the face. He grabs a bag that Timmy hadn’t seen before and empties it on the mattress, a tangle of black leather. “Armie, you’ll know what to do with all of this, I presume?” 

He picks up the cattle prod and loosens Armie’s chains. “If either of you don’t come I swear to God I’ll beat the shit out of Timmy, do you hear me?” he asks as he makes his way to the door. “So you better make it a good one.”

As soon as the door is closed, Timmy struggles to push himself off the floor. “Hey, Armie, you okay?” Timmy asks. He finally gets to his feet and stumbles over to Armie, falling into his arms. “It’s okay, we’re okay.”

Armie lets out a shudder at Timmy’s touch, like he’s been holding back ever since Sir walked into their room. He pulls at his chains until he can hug Timmy, and Timmy hugs him back just as fiercely. “Hey, we’re okay, right? It’s you and me, I got you,” Timmy whispers, worried about Armie’s lack of response. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Armie bites out, his voice thick with unshed tears. “Fuck, Timmy, I can’t do it.”

“I know, I know, shh,” Timmy soothes as he wipes away Armie’s tears with his thumbs carefully. “But we have to do this.” He glances down below their waists. They are both almost completely hard and he knows Sir is watching, so they have to be quick. He doesn’t want to upset Sir any more. 

“Come on, let’s go,” he says, pulling Armie to the mattress. With shaking fingers he picks at the mess of leather sitting on the bed, trying to figure out what he’s looking at. “Oh,” Timmy exclaims, a bit breathless. He smoothes out three items on the mattress and looks up at Armie, who’s gone pale as a sheet. The speaker crackles.

“Armie, look alive. Put the ball gag in Timmy’s mouth so he can’t tell you no, and put the collar around his neck. Tightly, so he can’t slip out. And the leash is for you, so you can get a good handle on him. What do you say to Sir about these gifts?” 

Armie stares dumbly at the mirror, disgust plain in his eyes. Timmy puts a hand on Armie’s neck, turning his gaze toward him. _Say thank you, Sir,_ he mouths. 

“Thank you, Sir,” he intones, eyes never leaving Timmy’s. He flexes his fingers on the ball gag, not making any moves to fasten it around Timmy’s head, so Timmy opens his mouth in clear invitation. 

“Oh, well _done_ , Timmy. Look at our little whore, Armie, he wants it. Wants you to fill him from both ends until he’s drooling with it. Get a fucking move on, boy,” Sir crows out of the speaker. 

Armie shakily brings the ball gag to Timmy’s mouth, slipping the ball inside and strapping it around his head. He leans close to Timmy’s ear, as if he’s making sure the gag is fastened properly, and whispers “I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry” quietly. Timmy blinks, then tilts his head up for the collar. If he can keep Armie moving, keep things moving along, then the sooner it will be over. He’s afraid that Armie is close to shutting down, and if Sir hurts him like he says he will, Timmy will be too indisposed to protect Armie. He needs to keep them moving.

Armie sucks in a breath, steadying himself, and buckles the collar around Timmy’s neck, runs a finger between to check the tightness.

“Tighter!” Sir barks.

Timmy swallows, eyes still trained on the ceiling. Armie tightens the collar two more notches and doesn’t try to check the tightness again. He clips the leash to the ring of the collar and stops. Timmy glances down; Armie has his hands in his lap, loosely holding the leash, his eyes unfocused, blurry, staring at Timmy’s chest. Timmy knows he has to make the first move, and he thinks he knows what Sir wants. Slowly, he moves to his hands and knees, facing the wall adjacent to the mirror, lowers himself to his elbows, arching his back. He feels like a dog, ready to mounted, on display to test out a stud.

“Ohh, yeah, fuck, you’re gonna take it like a bitch, huh?” Sir moans. “Just waiting to get your cunt filled by a dick. Come on, Armie, fuck him, he wants it!”

Timmy can feel Armie moving behind him; he takes the leash in hand and yanks it once, but then smoothes a hand down Timmy’s side where Sir can’t see. Timmy feels a slightly cold trickle down his cleft and then Armie’s finger circling around his hole. He tries to relax his body, willing it to take in Armie’s fingers quickly and painlessly, but he’s still sore from the first time. When Armie’s finger breaches him, he yelps before he can suppress it. Armie stops moving his finger and he shuffles close enough to Timmy that he can feel his hard cock pressing into his perineum. 

“Relax, baby,” Armie hums. Timmy is shocked to hear his voice, but he rolls his shoulders and arches his back a little more, turning his face to the side to rest his head on the mattress. “There you go.” Armie starts stretching Timmy out, spitting a couple more times to add as much lubrication as possible before adding a second finger. He starts scissoring his fingers, but Sir yells at him to get his dick into Timmy, and then the pain is back. 

“Ohhhhh,” Timmy moans, rolling his forehead back and forth on the mattress. Armie is pressing into him so slowly, so carefully, but he doesn’t think it matters. Nothing is going to make this better and if he wasn’t artificially aroused, his dick would be flaccid and crawling back up into his body. It continues for what feels like an eternity, and by the time Armie is finally fully inside, Timmy is sobbing around the gag, drooling onto the mattress.

“Shh, baby, shh, it’s okay, it’s all the way in, there’s no more, please, Timmy, calm down,” Armie pleads, stroking Timmy’s stomach and chest. Timmy wipes his face as best he can and Armie catches his hand before he can tuck it back under his body and kisses his palm. “I gotta move now.”

Timmy nods into the mattress. Armie starts rocking back and forth, building up speed, until he’s pounding Timmy, every thrust pushing him into the mattress. He can hear Sir breathing over the speaker, grunting every few minutes, and when Armie hits Timmy’s prostate and he screams, Sir laughs and swears under his breath, before telling Armie to pull harder on the leash. Timmy’s screams and sobs are cut off when his airway is cut off, and he wheezes for breath while Armie speeds up, balls slapping against Timmy’s ass with every push. Timmy claws at his neck, trying to loosen the collar, as his vision starts getting spotty around the edges. He tries calling out to Armie, but the garbled noise coming around the ball gag sounds nothing like his name. Armie must notice something, because he eases up on the leash and slows down to rolling his hips. 

“Timmy, baby, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Armie babbles, reaching for Timmy’s dick, still hard despite his anguish. Armie starts to jerk him off, focusing on the spot below the head and massaging his balls. Timmy wails, his lungs sucking in air, and he sobs so hard he makes himself gag. 

“Oh god, oh god, baby, breathe, slow, come on,” Armie cries, lowering himself so he’s covering the entirety of Timmy’s body. “I’m sorry, I’m close, I’m so sorry, baby.”

His hips pick up speed and Timmy scrunches his face in pain. It feels wetter than last time. He reaches for his dick in an attempt to bring himself off so he can end this fucking nightmare and when he goes outside his body, back to Crema, back to sunlight and warmth and Armie’s bed where he passed out a few times and woke up curled into Armie, he can feel himself getting closer. 

Armie suddenly groans behind him, hips stuttering as he climaxes inside of Timmy, and he slows down to a filthy grind of his hips while Timmy’s hand flies over his cock. Armie knocks his hand out of the way and takes over for him, and he places a tiny kiss in the crook of his neck.

“Come on, Timmy, come for me. Please, what’s going to get you there?” Armie whispers, his lips hot on Timmy’s skin. “Do you remember that night in Rome? We were so drunk, and jet-lagged, and Nick’s brother found us some weed? And we smoked in on your balcony because Liz went to bed, and you asked me why I was staring at you?”

Timmy whines, pushing his hips down to thrust through Armie’s hand. 

“I didn’t want to tell you why because I wanted to kiss you, baby. You were - are - so beautiful, and we were dancing around each other all day and your lips were all red and bitten and I wanted to bite them.”

His sobs have dissipated into silent crying, his eyes hid in his elbow. Armie presses a kiss onto his earlobe and then bites it, lightly. 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you so many times, baby, probably since Crema, since that first night you spent the night. It felt so right, waking up with you in my arms, baby,” Armie says, and twists his hand in the upstroke, and Timmy comes.

He cries out and collapses, spent and exhausted. He hears the speaker, but he can’t make out what Sir is saying, but he’s not barging in here again, so Timmy thinks he’s safe. For now. Armie unclips his gag and collar, and he swallows a few times before whispering _I’m okay_ and passing out.


End file.
